


Earl Greys and Strawberry Scones

by earthraindragon1



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, because boy do i want to write some sometimes, some fluff for you all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 18:17:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15176531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthraindragon1/pseuds/earthraindragon1
Summary: Arturia "Arty" Pendragon, the dorky mess of nerves whom spends her afternoons frequenting her local cafe, all in the hopes of gaining the attention of the town's most popular waitress. Its hardcore fluff, true "Harold they're lesbians" stuff.Part of this based on http://oh-amy.tumblr.com/post/175276404157/imagine-your-otp





	Earl Greys and Strawberry Scones

Arty stormed into the cafe, eyebrows flared with irritation, back sore and mind burning. It had been simple enough for fucks sake. Pour hot water on the teabag, leave for three and a half minutes, **then** pour the milk. Bloody idiot Tristan had no right to call himself an Englishman, why she’d show him what tea was…

The café was nearly empty, tasteless pop resounding off the walls and hammering into the blonde’s skull. Arty pointedly left her umbrella to drip dry by the door, noting that should she keep it by her side, there would be no guarantee that the radio would still be intact by the time she left.

Draping her dampened raincoat over the back of her chair, Arty tentatively sat down, glancing over her shoulder, hoping desperately that she may catch a glimpse of _her_.

Arty had first met _her_ three months ago. She’d been entering the small business, yearning for her usual order of earl grey and strawberry scones. Their shoulders had collided, yet as she fell to the ground, Arty focused only on the deep brown of her hair, the way it caught the light and shimmered in glossy waves.

Of course, being the bumbling fool, she was, she’d waved off help from _her,_ dismissed the outstretched hand, and quickly stumbled away in a daze, forgetting her previous destination.

She’d been trying to gain _her_ attention ever since.

It wasn’t easy. She was popular, both kind and beautiful, a match rarely found. Her long legs leading to curvaceous hips, her confident stride, the delicate rise and fall exposing her collarbone….

Arty blushed, hiding her face with her menu. This was what you got when you fell for the towns most popular waitress. Sighing deeply, Arty straightened herself. Eyes forward, back upright, hands in lap. The proper pose that one who is pursuing should assume. Or so Jane Austen claimed…

“Good afternoon, can I take your order, or would you like some more time?”

Arty juddered suddenly, her heart skipping a beat in her chest as she realised, today was the day, it was finally _her_. The brunette tilted her head in concern, creases forming wonderfully as her eyes narrowed in worry.

“Are you okay there? If you need medical assistance I can- “

“Euh, non merci, je vais bien!”

Oh, good grief, never did Arty think she would loathe her bilingual skills, but just this once, perhaps saying nothing would be better than **this**.

“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry, It’s just-“

It was quite a shock when the waitress giggled, and Arty’s cheeks burned.

“Wow, its been quite a while since my French lessons. My apologies, _mademoiselle._ If it would be quite alright with you, could we possibly converse in English?”

“Of, of course…” Arty’s legs trembled with fear as she plucked up the menu once more, pretending to read its contents. “Could I have the- “

“Earl grey and two strawberry scones? Of course!” She smiled so sweetly, so charmingly. The menu fluttered from Arty’s fingers, and the waitress stooped to pick it up, much to the blonde’s embarrassment.

“No, let me, I dropped it- “

“It’s my job, don’t you worry, I’ll- “

And of course, as with all clichés that are written as the result of a soppy writer on a Wednesday evening, their hands caught one another’s. Arty stifled a gasp, hoping that the waitress would not mind her clammy palms. The waitress just smiled, swept her locks behind her ear, and leaned in closer.

“I’ve still yet to apologise for mowing you down that day.”

“It doesn’t matter but thank you.”  Arty could feel the waitress’s warm breath on her neck. She shyly gazed at her profile, before continuing. “There’s actually something else I’d like. A date? You and I, a large portion of chips and a walk through the park this Sunday?”

The waitress smiled, a great toothy dorky smile of joy. She withdrew only to retrieve her pen and pad, before scribbling something hurriedly upon one of the sheets.

“Here you are” The sheet fluttered to the table. “May I have your name?”

“A…Arty.”

With that the waitress hurried away. Arty held the paper between thumb and forefinger. A giggle bubbled its way up her throat and through her lips.

“Gwen” and a phone number were scrawled in blue biro. At the bottom, a hurried heart.


End file.
